


Going Underground

by dreaminginsepia



Category: Beyond Belief - Fandom, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: F/M, No really., coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreaminginsepia/pseuds/dreaminginsepia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coffee shop AU. </p><p>Why would Frank and Sadie ever go into a coffee shop? When it's not a coffee shop at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sadie's Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> This started because I wanted to write a coffee shop AU for Frank and Sadie but I couldn't actually think of any feasible reason for either of them actually visiting a coffee shop. Set ambiguously 1920s ish (complete with 1920s Starbucks because I can).

 

*

  
It had all started on another nondescript morning as the pair had lain sprawled out on Sadie’s luxurious carpets in her Plaza hotel penthouse. They had spent the morning doing very little apart from gossiping and drinking, and the previous few days had been much the same. While it was undeniably pleasant, Sadie found herself suddenly bored.

“It’s not you darling Donna, I swear,” she drawled – downing another glass of gin to refresh herself before continuing – “I simply need a change of scenery. Are there no good bars left in New York?”

Donna thoughtfully sipped from her own glass – a cocktail of her own concoction that was a strange deep red colour. Polite society dictated that you should ask before drinking someone else’s drink, and while normally that particular rule was one Sadie preferred to think of as a suggestion, there was something about the glass – and the way Donna was nursing it – that made her pause. Maybe later.

“Well, there is a little place I know. It’s a bit of a dive, but what can you do nowadays?”

Sadie sighed dramatically, refilling her glass in solidarity. “I simply don’t understand it. Things were much more sophisticated in London. There you could drink to your heart’s delight and no one was around to tell you of the evils of alcohol or point out that it’s technically illegal. I wouldn’t let a little thing like that stop me, but closing the bars does somewhat put a spanner in the works. It’s simply too horrible to think about Donna dear! What happened to the leftover bottles when they closed the bars? Were the poor things left alone in the dark with no one to give them final rites?”

She shuddered. “Maybe they’re still there, even now. Oh Donna, do you think they’re still there?”

Seeing her friend’s excitement, Donna laughed. “Afraid not Sadie, there were a hell of a lot of parties that final month. For a while I thought there’d be no liquor left in America – “

“Donna,” admonished Sadie, “not in front of the bottles.”

“Of course, my apologies. It was a good month though.”

Arguably too good for some. It was certainly not a week Donna would forget. Quickly moving away from that particular train of thought, she shook her head and tried to remember what they had been talking about.

“Oh yes, so that little place – it is small, but I think you’d like it. Well hidden, a certain clientele. Dark, a bit dingy and so much liquor I wouldn’t be surprised if walking in alone made you drunk.”

“Say no more! We should go there now, before they run out.”

“Sadie, it’s a bar. They don’t run out.”

Raising her martini, Sadie winked at Donna before drinking it down in one.

“Darling, they haven’t met me yet.”

  
*

  
But much as Sadie trusted Donna, when the taxi cab dropped them off outside what looked to be nothing more than a coffee shop she was more than tempted to turn around and run back to the safety of her suite. Coffee was fine (she’d heard), but not nearly enough to tempt her.

“Donna darling, you know I love you –“she began doubtfully, but Donna was already inside. Maybe she really has changed, Sadie mused. She’d only been in London a year or so to try and outlast this dreadful new law (and explore the seedier side of London’s underground), but in those twelve months Donna had begun drinking strange red concoctions and visiting – coffee shops. Something drastic must have changed.

“It’s simply too terrible.” Sadie muttered. But Donna was her closest friend, her oldest closest friend and she had never let her down before. Not that time the matron had caught them sneaking back from a jazz club at 6 am (Donna had taken the blame for “leading Sadie astray”, a claim both found hilarious); not the time they had experimented with making their own Plaza Hotel moonshine in Sadie’s bathtub and had temporarily gone blind; and not the time Donna had rescued Sadie from the boredom of a fancy meal with her parents by attending as Sadie’s ‘live in bacheloress friend’ (the rumours were still flying). Surely she wouldn’t fail her now.

So, breathing in, Sadie stepped inside the shop. It was as bad as her nightmares had prepared her for, and she wrinkled her nose at the pervasive smell of coffee. She could almost detect a hint of something more welcome underneath though – something warm and spicy. As she frowned, trying to place it, Donna grabbed her hand and began leading her towards the front.

“Donna, I don’t drink coffee. It’s far too – not liquor.”

“I know, I know – but this place is different.”

Raising an eyebrow sardonically, Sadie considered Donna. “Well, I’ll take your word for it. But what should I even order?”

At this, Donna smirked. “I think you’d enjoy the special.”

“The special? The special what? What’s special about brown water?” Sadie cried, but it was too late. Bewildered, she stood in front of a barista, wearing a dark green apron and a disconcertingly large grin.

“And what can I get you today?” he chirped, and Sadie felt her sprit sink even further.

“I believe I will have the special. Please.” She stammered uncharacteristically.

The barista nodded and ushered her to come behind the counter. Not understanding, Sadie simply stood there with one eyebrow raised and her arms folded. The barista’s smile faded slightly and he sighed lightly.

“If you’ll just come round the back here, I can show you the specials.” He clarified, and Sadie, figuring there was little left to disappoint her, walked around the side – only to see a large hatch in the floor with a set of precarious looking steps. Lifting the hem of her dress to clear the dusty looking entrance, Sadie followed the barista down the steps.

*

It was a bar. A beautiful, beautiful bar. Sadie stood at the entrance in wonder for a minute, taking in the hidden treasure trove. Deep scarlet, plush velvet booths lined the walls on one side and on the other was a wooden bar with highly polished brass fittings that looked well loved. And behind the bar was a wall of bottles in various shades. It looked to be two deep – although of course, Sadie considered, if she were to come here regularly it would have to be. There were a few other customers lounging around, sipping drinks but for the most part it was empty. Hearing another pair of footsteps descending, Sadie whirled around and hugged Donna tightly.

“Donna darling dearest, I will never doubt you again!”

“I’ll forgive you for doubting me the first time if you buy me a drink,” her best friend smiled, “they make a mean B negative martini here.”

Pinning this comment for explanation at a future, less sober date, Sadie dragged Donna over to the bar. “What should I have? A Martini – no, gin! No, vodka neat two olives – no, that’s a martini – ooh, whisky! Or whiskey! Or bourbon – “

A male voice laced with amusement came from the wall of bottles in front of her, cutting off Sadie’s train of thought.

“Take a breath and think on it.”

“Donna,” whispered Sadie, “I believe you have brought us to a haunted bar.”

“Not haunted,” said the voice – “well, not in this part at least. Never store bottles near ghosts, it ends badly for everyone. No, it’s just me.”

And then the most handsome man Sadie had ever seen walked out from behind the bottle wall, polishing a glass as he did. In a second she had taken in the smart – but well darned – suit and the slight smear of blood over the man’s eyebrow. He smelt like neat bourbon and earth. He was simply the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. Finishing his polishing he placed the glass down and looked up at her.

“So, what can I get – “ and then he froze.

Both of them stared at each other, eyes wide. Donna looked between them, smiling slightly as her friend was reduced to silence. Catching the eye of another bartender, she left the pair to stare while she ordered her first martini.

Finally, the man shook his head and bowed his head. “Frank Doyle. Charmed to meet you.”

“Sadie Parker, and believe me, the pleasure’s all mine.”


	2. Frank's Perspective

It was just another Wednesday as far as he was concerned. Wake late, stare at the ceiling for a few hours while slowly drinking his morning whiskey – slowly by circumstances, not be choice. Frank would have liked nothing better than to polish off the bottle as fast as he was humanly able to, but if he was to remain sober as little as possible without resorting to law breaking too often the whiskey had to be rationed. It was hard to regularly and reliably source the stuff he could actually stand to drink, and the premium on drinkable liquor was extortionate these days.

By the time the morning bottle was finished, time to begin the afternoon bottle and leave his tiny flat to head to the bar. He, Red Wolf Mendels, and Pterodactyl Jones (and Harvey, naturally) used it as a kind of office. It had all the qualities Frank required for a designated workplace: a regular supply of good quality liquor, and anonymity when he needed it. Anyone with queries could usually find at least one of them there, and it served as an appropriately fortifying base of operations for their more dangerous expeditions. For a year or so they had been booming, inundated every night with problems of the supernatural. The future seemed bright – or marginally brighter anyway.

Or at least, it had. Business had begun to slow a few months ago, and now the trio only had one case or so a week. Frank didn’t know why – although he suspected the lack of alcohol in general circulation might not be helping. People just weren’t as willing to ask for paranormal help when they were sober, nor were they as keen to believe in the existence of spirits. A séance gone wrong, a few exorcisms and one particularly nasty (and expensive) encounter with a werewolf had been Frank’s only sources of income for the last three months, and eventually he’d found himself looking at the bottom of his glass – literally and metaphorically. Eventually the barkeeper had seen him whiling away one too many afternoons slumped in one of the booths nursing his evening bottle and had taken pity on him. Frank didn’t make the best cocktails – his tastes were simple and strong – but luckily the clientele rarely required anything fancy. If there was one thing Frank Doyle could do, it was pour liquor. And so he did.

*

So, on what appeared to be another Wednesday lunchtime, he had grabbed his coat, picked his bottle (bourbon, the good stuff), combed his hair – as best he could with a partially shattered mirror (fight with a poltergeist gone wrong, but exorcising it had got him the apartment cheap) – and left in the rain to make it to his afternoon shift. Normally the place was quiet, and today – so far – appeared to be entirely normal. He got in, hung his coat up behind the bar and decanted some of his liquor into a hipflask. He may not have been too classy to steal liquor, but he was too smart to steal it from his workplace. Sleeves rolled up to show he meant business, and off he went.

And it had been entirely as expected. A few shouters, easily dealt with. Minor run on gin, but nothing they weren’t prepared for. Wednesday afternoon though, most people here were slouched in the booths pretending they weren’t themselves for a few hours. Not that he blamed them, he would have liked to do the same. Still. There were worse ways to while away an afternoon while keeping a roof over your head.

Frank could hear female voices from behind the bottles, and leaned in to hear more. One of the voices in particular was clearly audible, even through the wall of liquor. Smart – wealthy – but he could hear something behind the distinctive vowels. There was something restrained in that voice, something hidden. For a second, Frank imagined his name said in that voice. The rich, drawn out “a”. A voice like that could say a name like “Frank” a million ways and he would never tire of it. A few less wholesome scenarios scattered through his mind and for a second he indulged in them, before frowning and shaking his head.

“You’re being ridiculous Doyle,” he muttered, vigorously polishing the glass to emphasise his point, “it’s just a voice. Nothing you can read into that without having even seen the woman.”

She was still talking, listing off drinks. Excellent taste, he noted. In an effort to calm his mind, Frank called out to her.

“Take a breath and think on it.”

The second of silence gave him time to breathe deeply, grab another glass and redirect his mind to thorough polishing.

But still, as he walked round the corner to take the order, Frank kept his gaze down. Drawing out the moment of suspense perhaps, or maybe to prepare himself to be disappointed when the fascinating voice belonged to a perfectly ordinary woman.

The glass was clean, he decided. Time to burst the bubble. He put it down and started his bartender spiel.

“So, what can I get – “

And then, he froze. She was definitively not an ordinary woman. There she stood in front of him, pure perfection in a scarlet dress, her black hair swept off her face and loosely tied back, her lips deep red and the faint smell of gin in the air around her. He had never seen anything more lovely.

He could have stared at her forever, but after what felt like eternity he managed to break their gaze and shake his head slightly to clear it. Instinctively he bowed slightly (inwardly cursing himself as soon as he had), and looked up, instantly clouding his brain again.

“Frank Doyle. Charmed to meet you.”

The vision smiled back at him, eyes sparkling.

“Sadie Parker, and believe me, the pleasure’s all mine.”


End file.
